You were my star
The one I kept looking from afar
The one that, even among millions
Was the only one my eyes could see
I spent endless nights
Talking to you
Praying for you
Thanking God for your existence
Yet I wonder
If the stars weren’t made to hurt
Why are they always drawn so sharply ?
If they were never meant to wound
Why do they have pointed edges ?
I never thought
That something so beautiful
Could cut so deeply
Could be so cruel and heartless
Yet
You proved me wrong
You, my sharpened star
You may think I look weak!
Old man, less speed.
But each muscle fibre has learned, each muscle fibre has earned.
Knows pain and knows strength.
Experience for the sake of experience.
So before you begin.
Sit still think within.
Because when the Adrenalin flows.
The win will be more than blows.
It will take acts of the mind.
Acts youth may not find.
Yet vigour will always give an edge,
But age has stood upon that ledge.
For the blade that cuts the deepest still
Was sharpened not by strength — but will.
The world was a blur, a hazy design,
Like Monet through mud, a most curious sign.
But then came a change,
My vision rearranged,
Now, the details are sharp, and the jokes truly shine!
Your silence
IS a sharpened knife
that cut my body
and tore my
soul...
Sitting at brackish-brown water's edge
Hands, blue-veined, sore to the bone
Strong searching fingers through muddied sand dredge
Seeking Early Man's sharpened stones
Breeze soft with whistles of melodious song
Waves lapping rhythm to Earth's heartbeats
Strong searching fingers through muddied sand long
To feel that ancient, sharpened strength
Floating on jasper and obsidian dreams
My mind re-creates this place long ago
Strong searching fingers, through muddied sand glean
To reap Early Man's sharpened stow
A stone sharpened to pierce, take down
A spirit meant to feed, make warm, to survive
Strong searching fingers, through muddied sand drill
For the need to know him; sharp and alive
Sitting at brackish-brown water's edge
Hands all shriveled, sensitive, clean
Strong searching fingers, through muddied sand, slide
Touch, then know perfectly sharpened means
To feel with strong tanned fingers, this
To hold though none have held before
Since one who sent this lance to kiss,
Ask forgivness and become his store
Such a moment is addictive
Such a moment is quite rare
What a victory to have been predictive
I pray he knows, I know he was here
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